We each have a blind spot. We see truth fragmentarily. If only the
excellent lady in the Scottish church could have seen, in the minister's
text, what Huxley saw in it! But she didn't; and, because she was blind
to its beauty, she called it '_the worst text in the Bible!_' And if
only Huxley could have grasped those precious truths that were so dear
to her! But he never did. He could only shake his fine head sadly and
say, 'I do not know!' 'I would give my right hand,' he exclaims, 'if I
could believe that!' Mr. Clodd adorns the title-page of his _Life of
Huxley_ with the words of Matthew Arnold: 'He saw life steadily and saw
it whole.' That sad shake of the head, and that passionate but
melancholy exclamation about giving his right hand, prove that the
tribute is not quite true. Huxley, as he himself more than half
suspected, missed the best.
When Sir George Adam Smith, in his _Book of the Twelve Prophets_, comes
to this great passage in Micah, he prints it in italics right across the
page:
_What doth the Lord require of thee but to do justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with thy God?_
This, says Sir George, is the greatest saying of the Old Testament; and
there is only one other in the New which excels it:
_Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest._
Huxley had eyes for the _first_, but none for the _second_; the Scottish
lady had eyes for the _second_, but none for the _first_; but they who
'see life steadily and see it whole' will stand up to salute the majesty
of both.